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Now, Joe kept a journeyman at weekly wages whose name was Orlick. He pretended that his Christian name was Dolge, a clear Impossibility, but he was a fellow of that obstinate disposition that I believe him to have been the prey of no delusion in this particular, but wilfully to have imposed that name upon the village as an affront to its understanding.
Dolge Orlick was at work and present, next day, when I reminded Joe of my half-holiday. He said nothing at the moment, for he and Joe had just got a piece of hot iron between them, and I was at the bellows; but by and by he said, leaning on his hammer, "Now, master! Sure you're not a going to favor only one of us. If Young Pip has a half-holiday, do as much for Old Orlick."
"It is a mystery. She had served Madame so many years. And then at the last they say she was a spy for les Boches!" Dolge appeared, with his toothless grin, at the round opening in the postern. "The little Hetty and Mademoiselle l'Americaine," he mumbled. "Madame la Countess expects you." He unchained the door and let them pass through.
If it were not for you and our little Hetty I should scarcely feel I had a social life at all." She spoke to Dolge as he hobbled away. "Tell them to make tea," she said. "Yes, Madame la Countess," he mumbled. She took the arm of the strong young girl and walked with her up and down the portico. "Henri will be disappointed in not seeing you, Mademoiselle.
It was on yesterday, as she went toward the Dupay farm, that she had seen the rising aeroplane, from which had been dropped the paper bomb, wherein Ruth had found the message from Tom Cameron. It was from just beyond the gates that Dolge said the machine rose that had borne away Major Marchand from the chateau.
He flushed and dropped his gaze. Her intimation was not to be mistaken. He seemed unlikely to be brought wounded to the hospital. Before he could recover himself they were at the gate. Dolge opened the postern and the two girls stepped through, followed by the French officer. The young fellow in the American ambulance immediately hailed Ruth.
The Latin nature is easily offended; but it is usually just. She saw nobody else in her walk to the chateau. There she had to wait for some minutes at the gate for Dolge to answer her summons. "The Mademoiselle Fielding," he said, bowing. "I am sure the countess will approve my asking you in at once. She is fond of you, Mademoiselle." "I am glad, Dolge.
What did the French officer, whose loyalty she doubted, have to do with Tom Cameron, whose loyalty she never for a moment doubted? Ruth went on ahead of the wondering Dolge, vastly troubled. At every turn she was meeting incidents or surprising discoveries that entangled her mind more and more deeply in a web of doubt and mystery. Where was Tom? Where did the major fly to?
"The time, Dolge?" she demanded, stopping short in the walk and looking at the surprised old servant. "The time that Major Henri flew away?" "Oh, la! It was around one of the clock. Not later." That was the hour! Ruth was confident she was making no mistake now. It was either the major, or the pilot of the plane, that had dropped the message to her.
I like to have people approve of me," smiled Ruth. "Ah, yes, Mademoiselle. And the major our Henri, our cadet! I am sure he approves of you, Mademoiselle." The American girl flushed warmly, but managed to hide her disturbed countenance from the old serving man. "He is not at home, is he, Dolge?" she quietly asked. "But, no, Mademoiselle. He went hurriedly yesterday. And would you believe it?"
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